Allmark-Kent 109
instinctive urges were responsible for
these individuals’ efforts
to regain their
autonomy.
In concluding his book
The Exultant Ark
(2011), cognitive ethologist
Jonathan Balcombe explains the importance of perceiving animals
as
individuals
:
Species
and populations are useful concepts, but they don’t take into
consideration animals’
sentience
. Species and populations
don’t feel
pains or pleasures; only
individuals
do.
So when we consider animals
with regard to their capacity to feel, we must consider them as separate
and unique
. As surely as they each have a biology, each also has a
biography
. (192, emphasis added)
Here, then, we can see the difference between natural history (as described by
Seton and Salt) and the modern, scientific study of animal minds. Indeed, in
The Emotional Lives of Animals
, fellow ethologist Marc Bekoff writes: “We must
make every attempt to
maintain the animal’s point of view. We must repeatedly
ask, ‘What is that individual’s experience?’” (125). Thus, as I will
demonstrate
later in this chapter, I suggest that Seton and Roberts were producing a form of
anecdotal cognitivism.
This is a phrase Dale Jamieson and Marc Bekoff use to
characterize Romanes’ method of using observations of individuals to infer the
cognitive states of a species (Jamieson and Bekoff 111). As Romanes explains,
his efforts to synthesize anecdotes and stories
led him to
“cast as wide a net as
possible,” fishing “the seas of popular literature as well as the rivers of scientific
writing,” (
Animal Intelligence
vii). Similarly, in his preface to
Kindred
, Roberts
observes that
“‘anecdotes of animals’ came to form a not inconsiderable body of
literat
ure” (22). It seems
fair to suggest, therefore, that the vast number of wild
animal stories became their own
not inconsiderable body of evidence
for their
authors
’ perceptions of animal cognition. Indeed, I contend that like Romanes,
Seton and Roberts attempted to use
their stories “to determine the upper limit of
intelligence reached by this
or that class, order, or species of animals” (
Animal
Allmark-Kent 110
Intelligence
viii).
Just like Romanes’ anecdotes of animal behaviour, the story of
a unique individual’s rare abilities becomes subsumed within the general
depiction of the species. Moreover, the juxtaposition of their stories within each
volume means that the figure in the background of one narrative is the
‘hero’ of
another, and vice versa.
I have observed an additional issue, however, which perhaps ought to be
of greater concern to literary animal studies: does the use of ‘animal heroes’
suggest that only
exceptional
animals deserve our attention and respect?
Would we extend the same concern to both the typical and atypical members of
the species?
For instance, would Kehonka’s story stir the same sympathy if he
had not summoned the enormous strength required to fly? And, furthermore,
how do we interpret Roberts’ use of playfully grandiose titles like “Lord of the
Air” and “Master of the Golden Pond”? On the whole, I interpret Roberts’ use of
‘lords’ and ‘masters’ as an extension of his attempts to imagine nonhuman
perspectives. Rather than speculating on the general
abilities of a species,
Roberts tends to create his thought-experiments on an individual basis. Could a
goose with clipped wings regain the ability to fly? How might it feel to be the
dominant individual in an area? Indeed, in
“Lord of the Air,” Roberts depicts
both
his protagonist’s aggressive relationship with other
birds of prey and the
impact of his absence on their community. Nonetheless, the question of
whether readers and writers are biased towards extraordinary members of a
species is a significant question for zoocentric literature. Moreover, for truly
“robust and respectful presentations of animals” (Shapiro and Copeland 345),
we cannot force them into
either role as ‘hero’ or ‘victim.’